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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151957">Shadow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenOnyx/pseuds/GreenOnyx'>GreenOnyx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wentworth (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Joan brooding, gothic themes, joan joaning, mention of murder, mention of sexual assault, screak - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 12:08:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29151957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenOnyx/pseuds/GreenOnyx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of what Joan/Kath's repressed memory revelations about her childhood could have looked like if Joan and Brenda had gotten their blackmail money and escaped to Rio together</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joan Ferguson/Brenda Murphy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Shadow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joan jerked awake. She didn't dare open her eyes. The dream had been horrible. The room was dark and nearly silent. Brenda's breathing was calm and steady beside her but it didn't calm her. It made her feel nervous and protective. She felt as though there were a presence in the room with them. She frequently felt like this. Like the air around herself was saddled with something more complicated than air. Like there was more to herself than she would like there to be. Things she desperately wished she could sever. She breathed deep and slow. She was determined not to move. She felt as if she heard the voice from her dream almost as clearly as if it were in the room beside her. Sitting on the edge of the bed, looking over her and Brenda. She couldn't tell if this was the Governor or the girl. Both had been shut away. Locked in their tight little boxes where she could hear them banging on the sides, scratching like she had done, like the real Kath Maxwell might have done if she woke up from her head injury before she succumbed to suffocation.</p><p>Joan tried not to think about Kath. She had been a practicality at the time. A task to be completed. A lucky break. But Joan wasn't sure anymore. Perhaps it was Kath sitting next to her on the bed. Perhaps it was Kath's voice ringing in her ears. The words weren't clear anymore, Joan couldn't remember what the voice had said to her, but the message was still clear "You're not safe". If Joan wasn't safe it followed that Brenda wasn't safe. She couldn't have that. She wouldn't allow it. She had to think. Had to solve this. But the presence she felt kept nagging at the edge of her consciousness keeping her from focusing. She felt the shell of her old self trying to fall into place over her. She felt the cowering fear of the little girl she barely remembered being. She just. Couldn't sort out her thoughts. She was afraid to open her eyes. Afraid that the presence she felt would would be real. Would be visible. Would be something she had to confront. Something she couldn't face.</p><p>Then the sounds of men setting up for a game of soccer on the beach wafted up through the window and shocked Joan. She had thought it was the middle of the night. Suddenly the shadows she felt surrounding her began to dissipate. She noticed the faintest light through her still tightly closed eyelids. And it was as if the presence she felt rose from the bed, receded with the shadows. She opened her eyes. Faint blue grey light filled the room. It looked cool and friendly. But the room looked larger than it usually did. Emptier. Joan got out of bed and wrapped herself in her silk kimono.</p><p>She stepped out onto the balcony. The door was left open most nights. Brenda said the breeze reminded her of summers in Greece. Joan breathed deeply and took in the cloudy predawn sky. Several floors down, she saw the men she had heard. All talking and stretching and patting each other on the back. It looked like some of them had already been playing awhile. This country's commitment to one sport above all other facets of life was something of a fascination for Joan. She understood the deep love of the feeling of the body in motion. The body as a fine tuned machine, a sharpened tool. She imagined how it might feel to share that bond with a group. She could not. Her body was always solitary. Her pursuits always entirely her own.</p><p>She felt the shadow looming behind her again. The aggregate body of the things she was trying to outrun. A phrase filled her mouth and begged to be spoken. She gripped the bar of the balcony tightly and breathed. She stretched her mouth and flexed her tongue to rid herself of the compulsion. It must've looked strange but no one was around to see it. She should've expected this. This creeping darkness. This tide she's always been one step ahead of. She should've knows that when she settled, when she paused, it would lap at her heels and soon it she would be knee deep in it, unable to run away. She felt the tears overtake her and she sobbed quietly. <em>I love you, mummy </em>the phrase that dropped into the forefront of her mind and spread like ink in water wouldn't wash away anymore. She gripped the railing with both hands and allowed herself to mouth it. "I love you, mummy" It was nearly silent. It was over quickly. It was like breaking a bone. Like breaking a bone that had been set wrong. She breathed in a lung full of sea air and and felt more tears stream down her face. The feeling of relief wasn't like a weight being lifted. It was something like vessel breaking. Like something tightly bound in her mind was free again. And she felt further away from the things she was running from. Melbourne, and Wentworth, and Vera, and most of all... Ivan.</p><p>She suddenly felt a burning rage. She wished she still had a picture of him so she could rip it to pieces and set it ablaze. Everything he took from her. Everything he made her work for. Things that should never be compromised, things that should be given freely. Then she chided herself again-she was no Kaz Proctor, she hadn't been molested. But she admitted now that she had been abused. Brenda had once told her "No one should have to fight for scraps. Not anywhere. Least of all when you're a kid, least of all for love." Joan had argued then, defended her father and defended her raising. She wouldn't argue now. She knew the memories were real. She knew her mother had been murdered. Murdered in front of her and then treated like an inconvenience, nothing more than a chore, something to be gotten rid of.</p><p>Joan knew now why she couldn't have brought herself to remember it in the past. It was too big. It was too much. It was too fast. She was too young to take on the magnitude of that experience. It didn't fit inside her understanding, it didn't fit inside of reality. And so it didn't sit in her mind with all the things she called reality. Not for years. Not for decades. Joan sighed and let herself slump and let her grip loosen on the balcony. It felt like letting him go, letting her father, her carefully constructed image of him fly away on the breeze.<br/>Her father's ghost had stayed haunting her all these years. She knew he was still with her, nothing that ran this deep was got rid of so easily. But she wasn't the one holding on anymore.</p><p>Soft hands touched her waist, slid around to the front and encircled her in a hug. Brenda pressed kisses to Joan's back, between her shoulder blades. She didn't say anything. Just held Joan and loved her. It was the greatest kindness. Joan rested her hands over Brenda's. They stood there, silently embracing in the earliest moments of sunrise until Joan's stomach grumbled.<br/>"Come on" Brenda kissed her arm "let's feed you"<br/>Joan didn't argue. She simply allowed herself to be cared for. Even if it still felt decadent.</p>
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